


to thine own self be true

by JaneScarlett



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6624013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneScarlett/pseuds/JaneScarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If ever there was a place to find knowledge on how to avert the coming Time War; it’d be here: the biggest Library in the Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to thine own self be true

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the River Doctor Ficathon. (Prompt: _River/Doctor - the Library. Any incarnation of the Doctor meets River at the Library after she’s been “saved”. Could be 11 or 12, after Trenzalore or Darillium respectively. But I’m especially partial to 6 or 8 for this idea (if you can explain away how he doesn’t remember her or the Library later on). Something mysterious is afoot at the Library and River has just the man to join her in solving the puzzle. Knowing her luck, it was bound to be the wrong Doctor that got her message._ )  
> Thanks to Sarah and Natalie for the beta!

Sometimes, thought the Doctor, he acknowledged that it wasn’t a leisurely stroll he was taking through the Universe. There were times that he had to call what he did by its rightful name. 

_Running._

Sometimes, it was just for the sake of it. Because there was so much to see and do, to feel and experience. There were crises to avert, people and planets to save; things that only he was capable of. 

Other times, he ran from trouble. (Truthfully: more often, he ran toward it.)

And a few very rare times, he ran away. Which, one could say, made it sound like he was being a coward. Afraid to do what was necessary.

“But today it’s not that; and I’m not afraid… exactly.” The Doctor slowly flicked a few switches on the TARDIS console, her hum comforting beneath his hands. “It’s more that I don’t agree. I _can’t_ agree. I refuse to side with the Council about this.”

This, was War; so big the ‘W’ was already being capitalised. The Seers had announced that their visions were finally clear: that this conflict had been foretold across the stars. There was no escaping it now. The Universe was entering the age of the Great Time War. Sacrifices were to be made and the _choices_ … There would come a time in the darkest of days for men to decide who they were meant to be, if Gallifrey would survive.

Standing with the rest of the Time Lords, hot and itchy in his robes, the Doctor had gravely listened. He had heard the Council’s call to arms and the murmured responses of his peers. Felt the mounting excitement… and there had been a time when he’d wished Gallifrey would understand what it meant to get involved. Not just step back, the silent observers who watched and waited.

Now… oh, now he’d give anything to have things as they used to be. Gallifrey, of all planets, shouldn’t be at war. He could see it happening already right before him: the Time Lords, so clever and cunning at the best of times, would so easily become cruel…

The Seers had said there were choices to be made. And he knew his reputation, on both distant planets and Gallifrey. The Doctor: always meddling, always fixing problems. (Sometimes creating new ones.)

And so, he ran. At the first opportunity, the Doctor headed for his TARDIS. Set the coordinates to bring him away –anywhere, he just wanted a place the Time War wouldn’t have touched- and back in time before the Seers’ announcement.

If he was lucky, perhaps he could find a way to end the Time War. Before it even began.

* * *

He may have set the coordinates at random, but he'd inadvertently chosen the perfect place… no reason for the War to intrude here, after all. And perhaps -just perhaps- he might find something interesting. If ever there was a place to find knowledge on how to avert the coming days; it’d be here, after all.

The biggest Library in the Universe. A planet filled with every book ever written… a planet which -the Doctor realised as he walked from room to room- was empty. And dimly lit. And very, very dusty.

He sneezed. The sound echoed back at him; the sound of a thousand sneezes amplified across a planet.

“Have you given your cleaning crew the day off?” asked the Doctor aloud. He swiped a finger across the desk, grimacing at the layer of grime. “Though this seems more like the accumulation of years. Centuries, even… has it actually been _centuries_ since anyone was here?”

“At least.”

The Doctor turned slowly, seeking the source of the voice who had answered him. He’d expected one of the welcome droids, perhaps a librarian…

But it was only a woman. She wore tall boots and snug trousers, a fitted long sleeve shirt and gloves, with a sturdy cap pulled low on her head, covering her hair. There was something about her clothes… or rather, the fabric. All black and slightly gleaming; as though it had been made to cast as little shadow as possible.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “And you’re talking too loud.”

“Ah, of course. I’m too loud for a Library…” He lowered his voice to a hoarse stage whisper.

“Is this better?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not really, no. You have to leave.”

“But I’ve just gotten here,” the Doctor protested. “And I’ve come to do research.”

“Find another place. The Library is closed.”

“But it’s a Library. Made to offer knowledge… it shouldn’t be closed.”

“Well,” she said testily, “it is. Look, nearly all the information here exists in other places. Check the digital files; perhaps what you’re looking for will be in one of those. Or there are other places; the Luna University has an excellent reading selection. I can bring you over there...”

She paused very suddenly, her eyes narrowing.

“It's you. Why - what - how did you get here?” she demanded. “You shouldn’t have been able to.”

“My ship is rather good at navigating tight spaces,” said the Doctor calmly.

“But the planet is sealed!”

“I happen to be good at picking locks.”

“And you have an answer for everything?”

“Often,” said the Doctor modestly. “And if I don’t; well then, I lie.”

The woman was still staring at him; an intent, focussed stare that made the Doctor give her his most charming smile.

“I do just need to do a few minutes of research, and then I’ll be gone. Something has come up, you see. A War… you can’t imagine the consequences that could come from it. But if I look around, perhaps I’ll find something-”

“You won’t.” There was a tone of finality in her voice. “I know what you’re looking for; and you won’t find it.”

“How would you know that I don’t find something?” the Doctor demanded. “I suppose you can see my future?”

The woman huffed out a sigh. “I don’t have to see it. I’ve lived it. Besides, you shouldn't have that sort of knowledge in advance. Tampering with your own timeline is forbidden…”

There was something in her expression, quite suddenly. The way her eyes darted around the dusty, shadowed room… and then he saw it. A faint movement at the corner of his eye, something scuttling across the ground toward them. The Doctor half-turned, but the woman grabbed his hand.

“It’s not safe,” she said in low a voice. “We should go.”

He wanted to object, or at least ask why… but he couldn’t. Her hand was warm even through her glove, her grip on his fingers punishingly tight. 

“Please,” she whispered. “I’ll…I’ll help you. The research you wanted. But we have to leave.”

“This way,” said the Doctor. He pulled her toward the correct room, the TARDIS doors opening immediately, without even needing the key. Once inside, she let go of his hand, hurrying to the console.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Into the void, away from here…” Her gloved fingers were quick and sure on the controls, his ship powering up and dematerialising with a rapidity that sent both of them lurching and trying to regain their balance, before she corrected their flight and they spun lazily into the vortex.

“And now that we’re safely away,” said the Doctor, “would you care to tell me what we were running from?”

Her shoulders tensed. Just a tiny bit, but enough for him to notice. 

“It’s a long story, Doctor.”

“I’ve got the time. Why don’t you start with: what was back there?”

“I…” She glanced at him, then looked pointedly away. “I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry.”

“Then try: why was the Library closed? Oh,” said the Doctor, crossing his arms. “That’s the same answer, isn’t it? What was back there and why it’s closed… If you’re not going to tell me, I might as well ask the TARDIS if her scanners picked anything up.”

The woman’s hand closed on his wrist before he could even touch the monitor.

“Don’t,” she said. “You’ll find out when you need to.”

“Which is when?”

She shrugged, her eyes meeting his apologetically. “When it’s important. I’m sorry I can’t give you any more information…”

“If you were that sorry,” said the Doctor, “then you’d find a way.”

She sighed. “I _am_ sorry, Doctor. But you’re asking all the questions I can’t answer.”

“Can’t? Maybe. Because, of course, you know the future. You said you’ve lived it…” He seized her hand, tugging at her fingers until the glove came off and he could carelessly cast it aside, wrapping his hand tightly around her forearm –one fingertip grazing her pulse, counting the double beats- as she struggled to get away from him. 

Questions; so many questions. She’d lived his future – so was she him? – but no, there was a sense of _other_. Not a later regeneration, then. But still someone connected with the future, preventing him from seeking information about the war…

“Did they send you?” he asked, leaning in to her. He was so close he could see the flecks of green within her blue eyes.

“They?” she asked fearlessly.

“The Council! Did the High Council know what I was going to do? Try to stop the war… did they send you? You don’t look familiar, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you before on Gallifrey.”

“You wouldn’t have seen me there...” But her pulse was racing, suddenly. There was something she was trying to hide…

“I can count your hearts-beats,” said the Doctor. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not. Not about that, at least… it’s complicated, Doctor. I can tell you that no one sent me to stop you.”  
“Then why were you there? You said the planet is sealed.” 

“It is, but I’ve got a very special connection to the Library. I’m something of a… guardian. Self-appointed. The planet isn’t safe; and since I managed to escape years ago, I go back every so often. Keep an eye on the situation.”

“I didn’t see anything there.”

“Oh, Doctor.” She smiled at him suddenly; and something about the sight of her full lips curving, her eyes full of laughter, made his breath catch. The Doctor let go of her wrist, stepping slightly away from her; but she moved toward him, continuing to smile as raising her hand to cup his cheek for a moment.

“You’ve travelled so far and so long, sweetie. Better than most, you know what can lurk inside the shadows.”

He did. Monsters and shadows and fears... but then he realised what she'd said. His name. She'd called him Doctor.

“You know me. Have we met?”

She shrugged. "Something like that.”

“But I don't remember you...?” He didn't think he did, at least. His fault probably; this regeneration seemed very prone to forgetting.

“No,” she said. "You wouldn't.”

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “I see. Then perhaps it's that I don't remember you yet.” He paused. Time travel made an awful hash of tenses and conjugations (he could never remember half the grammatical rules for Old High Gallifreyan) and first meetings could therefore be rather... flexible.

“When did we meet?” He was watching her closely, observing the minute shake of her head, her lips pressed together stubbornly...

“But, you’re not planning to answer that either! Won’t you at least tell me what to call you?”

“Professor,” she answered shortly, dropping her hand and turning away from him.

“Professor what?”

“If you like.”

“Oh, so it’s _the_ Professor?” asked the Doctor. “Still; Professor of what?”

She paused. “If I said archaeology, would you believe me?”

The Doctor spared a moment to survey her. His irritation was fading, but curiosity fully engaged. The Professor looked back at him, one eyebrow arched; and then he was lost in blue eyes that seemed full of secrets.

“Not really,” said the Doctor, secretly pleased when the Professor smirked. “Time Ladies rarely study archaeology; it’s not our _thing_ on Gallifrey. Not with our abilities. Time travel; it makes research unnecessary.”

“Not unnecessary,” she murmured. “Just different. Time travels gives you a unique opportunity for primary sources, rather than being dependent on the observations of others.”

“Such as the observation of someone telling me that I’m not supposed to find certain information?” he asked pointedly.

The Professor didn’t move. Not one twitch or fidget or blink… and the Doctor noted the way she looked straight at him. When most people wanted to evade the truth, they looked away. But not her. True, her eyes seemed darker, her smile more forced… and then she sighed, turning her attention to the TARDIS controls.

“You can’t rewrite your own timeline, Doctor. First rule of time travel.”

“It hasn’t been lived yet. If I chose, I could change what I want.” He was being ridiculous; he knew he was. As a Time Lord, he knew she was right… and yet, he couldn’t help arguing.

“Choice only goes so far, when you’re facing a fixed point.”

“This,” said the Doctor, “is not a fixed point.”

The Professor arched one eyebrow at him, not saying a word; but he wasn’t completely lying. Fixed points had a certain feeling to them. Like an expanse of wall in your way; something immoveable where you couldn’t open like a door, but needed to walk around. The Seers’ declaration hadn’t felt like that. It was a decision, nothing more. A decision that could lead to a fixed point… though not quite yet.

“It’s a war,” he continued. “I’ve been involved in a lot of them. Fixing them. Preventing them.”

Both her eyebrows were raised now. The Doctor raised one of his own, smiling innocently.

“We can keep arguing about this,” he said. “Or, you can do what you promised… remember? I leave the Library with you, and you’ll provide the research I needed about the Time War. What do you have? Articles? Interviews? Books?”

She sighed. “There is something.” 

He noticed she didn’t say what the something was. Knowing academic types though; it was likely a large book with the title emblazoned in gold. ‘The History of the Time War’, or something similar… authors of such books rarely had imagination.

“Well,” prompted the Doctor. “May I see it?”

The Professor turned away, pulling off her cap. Her hair was a dark reddish-blond, tightly plaited against her head and the length curled into a bun at her nape.

“I have a better idea,” she murmured. Her fingers curled around the TARDIS controls, typing in coordinates and releasing the brakes. The TARDIS shot out of the void, gently materialising a few moments later with scarcely a bump.

“Smooth flight,” the Doctor congratulated her. 

She shrugged. “Some of us are better pilots than others.”

“Passed your exam on the first go?”

“Something like that. How many times did you take it?” Her question was innocent enough, but the teasing look in her blue eyes made the Doctor frown. Ridiculous though it was, he wanted to impress her; and he didn’t know why it felt important. Maybe because she had the upper hand, here. Getting them out of the Library, her advance knowledge of the Time War. He hated not being the most knowledgeable person in the room.

“Hardly matters,” said the Doctor casually. “I’m known to be an excellent pilot these days.”

“Mmm,” said the Professor, as though she didn’t believe him. Her eyes didn’t look teasing anymore. There was full-fledged laughter in their blue depths that spilled out to the rest of her face. Her lips curled at the corners into an unmistakable smirk.

“Well,” said the Doctor, feeling flustered. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” said the Professor. “Interesting place outside. I think you’ll like it.”

And he did. He liked each subsequent planet she took him to, as well. They strolled the river banks in Nauses, and stopped at the foot of their bridge to throw crumbs to the ducks… and if the Doctor found himself reading the small plaque about the bridge’s designer as well –a man who had created weapons to aid the Allies in the Time War, and chose afterwards to create works of functionality and beauty- the Professor pretended not to notice his thoughtful expression.

She took him to an underground party on Umstea, where they danced to old tunes, reputed to be written during the war. _Burn, Dalek, Burn_ and _Time Lord Warrior_ even had their own series of steps that the Doctor found amusing; though the Professor seemed to laugh more at his attempts to dance.

And then they visited museums on Bax -the Professor pointing out the important works of art from artists who had grown to prominence after the Time War- and finally collapsed, exhausted, in a small cafe on Weir, where the proprietor came to the table to relate the stories of his ancestors.

“They were sculptors,” the man said. “Marble, limestone… hard to bring rock with you, when you flee a planet. They had to leave everything behind, but my Gran said they quickly learned their new home had more to offer. Better resources… my ancestors moved on from rock to clay.”

“And I suppose,” said the Doctor, his fingers smoothing over the pieces of the delicate tea set on the table, “that they became potters?”

“The best on Weir,” said the Professor. “Their work is unparalleled through this entire star system.”  
Pleased with the compliment, the proprietor left to attend another customer. The Doctor leaned forward, meeting the Professor’s calm gaze.

“You promised me research,” he murmured. “Not stories.”

“It may be my background in archaeology,” she answered. “But isn’t research just stories, in the end? For that matter: aren’t we all?”

The Doctor took a sip of his tea. She was clever, the Professor. Bit of a liar, perhaps –she knew that all this wasn’t what he’d had in mind when it came to research- but yes, she was very clever. This was far more interesting, far more fun, than any book could’ve been.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked suddenly. “The tea, the art, the stories-“

“The dancing?” the Professor added. The Doctor frowned at her smirk.

“All of it,” he said. “Tell me why.”

She shifted in her seat, her fingers tapped restlessly against the table. The Doctor watched her; there was a wary nervousness in her movements, her posture. She looked up at him; her eyes more green than blue under the soft lights of the café, her hair escaping its coiffure in curling wisps around her face.

“Let's just say that I owed you a favour. One day, you'll do something that helps me escape a certain life-and-death situation; so in exchange, I brought you to see what you needed to understand.”

Favours echoing back from future to past. The Doctor grinned. That did sound very him. He was curious, though... life _and_ death? Not for the first time that day, the Doctor wondered about the Professor's history. She’d carefully evaded his questions, providing teasing answers that he knew couldn’t be true. She was from his future, they’d have a close association; but those were the only things she’d admitted to. 

There would be time to understand all that later. Who she was, her part in his life. For now, the Doctor templed his fingers beneath his chin, thinking aloud: “you brought me to these places to understand the Time War is meant to happen. Because all this wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

“No,” the Professor agreed. “It wouldn’t. So many planets, so many lives. All different; and not for the better.”

“What about your life?” asked the Doctor. “Would it be different?”

She nodded, eyes demurely downcast; and somehow he knew that was all she’d tell him. 

“I know you’re right,” said the Doctor, “that war serves other purposes than violence. And the Daleks… they can’t be allowed to triumph. But I still don’t think Gallifrey should be part of it.” The Doctor frowned, trying to think of how to explain himself. 

“We're not fighters, though we can change that. The looms can be woven to new patterns. Regenerations can be devoted to create warriors, not watchers….”

The Seers had said that there would come a time in the darkest of days for men to decide who they were meant to be, if Gallifrey would survive.

But survive as what... that was the question nattering away in his head, especially after seeing how the Time Lords were suddenly embracing the idea of war. How many, after the fear and the bloodshed, would go back to being who they had been?

“Gallifrey will never be the same. My people…” The Doctor sighed, rubbing his eyes. “What will they become when the fighting is over? 

“What will _I_ become, if I condone the actions of Gallifrey during this war?”

He hadn't meant to say that. But he had, and she raised her head to look straight into his eyes. 

“You will always be you,” she said. “Amazing. Infuriating. Talking too much. Saving the world.”

There was something in her expression… Pity and understanding and a warmth that make his hearts beat faster. The Doctor couldn't help reaching out, his index finger stroking the back of her hand; and he felt her shiver before she slid her fingers through his, their hands tightly clasped.

“I won't let you do it,” she murmured. “And you couldn't, besides. You can't stop the war.”

He knew that. Even without seeing all these people, the lives and planets he'd visited with her today; he knew. But being a silent objector, refusing to take sides. Wasn't that the same, in its own way, as agreeing?

“I know I can't stop it,” said the Doctor slowly. “But I can choose... I can choose not to be involved.”

“To work against the Time Lords?” 

“No… not _against_. I won't try to stop the Time Lords. If the war has to happen, I won't stand against it. But I don't have to be a part of it either.”

“Then what will you do?” She sounded suspicious.

“Help the people who need it, if I can. Clean up the resulting mess.”

“In other words,” said the Professor dryly, “an ordinary Tuesday.”

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, before chuckling to himself. “Yes,” he said. “An ordinary day... but you think that won't work though.” He leaned across the table, not letting go of her hand. 

“I can see it in your eyes. It's a bad plan.”

The Professor sighed. “I think it'll fail you, eventually. I think that one day, you'll have to make a different type of choice. You can't run forever, Doctor.”

He knew she was right. The Council would never let him, to say nothing of his sense of duty and care… But he smiled at her, raising their hands to his lips to brush a kiss over her knuckles and lie as best he could.

“I can try.”


End file.
